


Defilement

by orphan_account



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: M/M, Molestation, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Sexual Assault, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 21:24:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2165730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Aoba asks about what it was like in that dark tattoo shop as a young boy, Koujaku laughs awkwardly and gives a vague answer, but tells him nothing.</p>
<p>Because nothing happened at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Defilement

The first time it happened, Koujaku bled. It streaked down his thighs, making dark, watery puddles on the wood floor. The pain didn’t register immediately; there was a dull pounding at the base of his spine instead. Koujaku’s body tensed and he could feel the strange, slick sensation of torn flesh mixing with thick blood and a different substance that he numbly identified as Ryuuhou’s come. He could hear shifting behind him, a rustling of cloth and a gentle knocking of those ugly clay skulls – Ryuuhou must be getting dressed, he thought absently. Koujaku kept still, face pressed to the floor, barely registering the pain blossoming up his body like the flowers outlined on his back.

Koujaku shook violently when he felt Ryuuhou’s hand trace over the fresh outlines of his tattoos. The ink had long since dried and the gloves dragged painfully against his skin. The cool leather did little to soothe him, instead raising goosebumps on his skin wherever they touched down.

“ _Koujaku_ ,” he said, drawing out each vowel, smiling with false warmth. “Did you enjoy yourself?” Ryuuhou’s hands came up to his bloodied hair, running his fingers through the short strands. For a moment, Koujaku thought of his mother. He tried to pretend it was her, that he was at home, but the deep laugh of the man above him shattered those illusions. “Because I did,” he continued. “It felt so good inside you. I’ve wanted to do this since I first saw you.”

The hand in his hair stilled and Ryuuhou gave a final, sharp laugh. “I hope you won’t mind if we do it again soon.”

Koujaku began to cry.

 

* * *

 

The second time it happened, Koujaku fought. He heard the soft sounds of Ryuuhou’s kimono dropping to the floor, heard the clattering of his clay skulls as they hit the ground, and he fought. Nails raked against Ryuuhou’s chest, teeth dug themselves into his shoulder. Koujaku was screaming like a frenzied animal, half from anger and half from horror. But he was only fourteen, weak from fear, and his blows did nothing. The much older and stronger Ryuuhou reached back, fingers closing around a skull, and he smashed it once, twice into Koujaku’s face, cracking his nose and stunning him.

He held up the bloody skull, still sitting on the younger boy’s legs. Koujaku held his hands protectively in front of his face, eyes burning with pain and fear. Ryuuhou dropped the skull and ran a thumb over Koujaku’s swollen lip. “I…didn’t mean to damage you,” he said slowly, almost apologetically. “You are my greatest masterpiece. My most beautiful creation,” he breathed, lowering down to lick at Koujaku’s neck.

When he felt the tongue brush against his skin, he tensed wildly and whimpered. Ryuuhou gave a breathy laugh, sucking at the skin of his collarbone. His hand came down to rest on Koujaku’s hip. “I knew you couldn’t stay quiet for long.”

Koujaku bit the inside of his cheek and closed his eyes.

He didn’t make another noise for the rest of the night.

 

* * *

 

The third time it happened, Koujaku begged. He begged before, clinging to the hem of Ryuuhou’s kimono, shoulders quivering and eyes wild. He begged during, feeling Ryuuhou deep inside him, feeling his flesh tear, feeling black-gloved hands running over his body. He begged after, for someone to kill him, for his mother to save him, for Ryuuhou to let him come.

Koujaku collapsed into a crying heap at that, disgusted and ashamed. _Why is this happening?_ He didn’t want to this to feel good, he didn’t want Ryuuhou to touch him anymore, so why was he…?

Ryuuhou ignored him, laughing as Koujaku lay on the floor. He ran leather-clad fingertips over his hips, smiling as they bucked upwards. “Well, well,” he whispered, “I suppose that wasn’t entirely unwanted.”

He hadn’t let Koujaku come that time, preferring to tease him until he grew bored, then throwing him out in the dark. When he was redressed and out of the tattoo shop, Koujaku fled to a quiet alley, ashamed and still painfully aroused. He hid behind a pile of garbage, pressing a hand against his mouth, the other reaching down into his kimono.

He threw up when he came.

When he finally made it home later in the night, his father told him that the tattoo would require an extra session to finish. Koujaku didn’t sleep at all, but spent the night curled up underneath his blankets, shaking.

 

* * *

 

 

The final time it happened, Koujaku cried. He heard the familiar sounds of cloth falling and clay skulls cracking together, he heard Ryuuhou kneel beside him and run his hands down his sore and stinging back, and he cried. “Koujaku, it’s okay. Don’t cry,” he said, grabbing the boy’s hand in his much larger one. “I won’t hurt you this time.”

Did he just say that? Was he really going to let him leave? “S-so I can go home now?” Koujaku’s voice was thin and reedy, but it held the faintest touch of hope.

Ryuuhou chuckled. “Don’t be stupid. You aren’t leaving until after we finish.” The other hand trailing down his back stilled. “But I don’t want to start just yet. Beg me for it.”

Koujaku’s eyes flew open, breath coming sharply between clenched teeth. _“Wh-what?”_ Koujaku whispered, still childishly hoping that he could be free. “Beg for what?”

“Beg me to start. I saw what you did the last time, in that alley.” The words were sharp as knives but the tone was soft and kind. “If you wanted it that badly, you should have asked.”

Koujaku opened his mouth, remembering how sickening it felt back in the alley. Shame filled every inch of his body.

_What would Aoba think of you right now, on the floor under a stranger, begging for him to touch you?_

Thinking of Aoba brought a hot, sickening feeling over his skin. He didn’t want Aoba dragged into this, he didn’t want Aoba knowing this happened, and he didn’t want Aoba to have to see him like this. _Aoba would hate me._

“I…I won’t. I won’t, I won’t, I don’t want it – ”

“What?” Ryuuhou’s tone grew sharp and his hand gripped Koujaku’s tightly, so tightly that he could’ve sworn that he felt the bones grind together. Then his hand relaxed and the false sweetness returned to his voice. “I may have misheard you, Koujaku.”

Gloved fingers dug roughly into the skin of his throat, forcing Koujaku’s head up until he was looking Ryuuhou in the eye. “I’ll tell you again, one more time: if you don’t want it to hurt, beg me to make it feel good.” The pressure against his throat increased little by little until he was seeing black dots dancing in his vision.

Suddenly Ryuuhou released his hand and he went lightheaded from the sudden rush of air. Koujaku went silent, staring at the ground, face turning red from shame and fear. “I…please.” His voice was raspy. “Please….”

“Please what?” Ryuuhou’s voice was teasing and cruel.

“Please, please,” Koujaku sobbed, “stop, please, I want to go home, I want my mom, let me go – ”

Ryuuhou took a handful of Koujaku’s hair and yanked him upwards, eyes flashing dangerously. “That’s very rude of you. I asked you a simple question.” He let go of the handful of hair and watched Koujaku’s head hit the floor. “I didn’t want to damage you too badly, but…I suppose as long as the tattoo remains intact, that’s all that really matters.”

Koujaku flailed wildly, howling as loudly as he could until Ryuuhou stuffed one of his gloves in his mouth to gag him. The leather tasted faintly of blood and ink. Koujaku bit deeply into the glove, muffling his cries. He tried his best to ignore Ryuuhou’s hands sliding over his body, down past his hips, nails scraping over sensitive skin. Koujaku’s blood made sticky puddles on the floor, the scent of it making him dizzy.

When he felt Ryuuhou’s hips suddenly stop their thrusting and heard the older man give a loud moan, Koujaku vomited.

Ryuuhou took a rag and wiped the mess off the floor, off Koujaku, his cheery smile never leaving his face. He tossed the folded red kimono unceremoniously to the ground. Koujaku took it with shaking hands, dressing quickly. “You’re free to go,” he said, still holding the bloodstained rag.

“I hope to see you again, Koujaku.”

He could still feel Ryuuhou’s cold hands on his body the entire time he sprinted home.

 

* * *

 

After the tattoo had finished, Koujaku didn’t hear about Ryuuhou again. He did, however, see the delicate petals and intricate lines, the reminders of what happened. When his mother saw the markings, she’d smile and pretend they weren’t there. Koujaku tried to ignore them as well and everything relating to that time. But there were some things he couldn’t quite forget.

He couldn’t forget the pain in his body every time he walked or sat down.

He couldn’t forget the cold bolt of fear he felt when a strange man passed him.

And he couldn’t quite forget Ryuuhou’s warning.

Sometime during his tattooing sessions, Ryuuhou had said… _something_. Something about feeling anger? Or was it about controlling himself? No matter how hard he tried, the words were never quite “there” enough to remember the exact phrase. The only thing he could recall was not letting his anger get the best of him.

He hadn’t felt angry in a long time.

Come to think of it, Koujaku hadn’t felt anything but numb, dull fear for several days. Not even when he thought of Aoba did he feel anything except for panic. _I’m supposed to be the strong one, I’m supposed to protect him. I couldn’t even protect myself! What if this happened to Aoba? What then?_

Koujaku tried his hardest to not think of Aoba.

Sometimes, at night, he’d try to become angry. He thought of everything Ryuuhou did to him, how he humiliated and defiled him, but only on the best days could he summon the slightest stirrings of hate. Most of the time, he felt nothing at all.

The worst he’d ever felt was a month after the last session, when he’d been dreaming of the ways he could hurt Ryuuhou in revenge. Koujaku’s thoughts strayed to the way Ryuuhou played with him, stroking soft lines around his body, coming close but never quite touching him. Somewhere during the dream, it turned from Koujaku hurting Ryuuhou to Koujaku begging for Ryuuhou to go deeper, harder, legs wrapped around him, begging for more.

Koujaku woke up disgusted and crying.

He didn’t tell anyone about that dream.

Each day that passed was another straw on the camel’s back, the littlest of noises causing Koujaku extreme distress and anger. He didn’t _exactly_ know when his fear turned to paranoia and rage. He didn’t _exactly_ know when he’d become a volatile and hateful young man, a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. He knew other things, though – he knew he’d begun blacking out, finding blood under his fingernails and caked on his teeth. He knew how his back and arms tingled when he felt the slightest beginnings of anger. He knew how, sometimes, he could just barely see his tattoos growing and changing color when he got mad.

But he never mentioned it, fearful that a problem with the tattoo would force him to see Ryuuhou again.

And so the anger inside him grew. Koujaku would walk out of the house after a fight with his mother and come to hours later, bloody and holding scraps of flesh in his hands. Small animals began to go missing, cats and squirrels and birds. Instinctively, he knew he was the reason for that.

Late at night Koujaku would curl up in a blanket, sobbing violently and trying to piece together exactly what was wrong. _It’s like my mind is breaking, I can’t stop myself. I’m hurting people. What did he do to me?_

How long until he was hurting people like Ryuuhou hurt him?

The rage and pain inside festered and spread until the smallest things sent him into a frenzy. His father had begun taking long business trips, spending weeks at a time away from them, away from the nightmare his son had become. Koujaku became more irrational, more violent. A few days ago, he overheard his mother calling up a few friends to come over and help her with something, and he knew exactly who the “thing” she needed help with was.

The next week, her friends stopped by. Koujaku watched each person appear with frightened, wild eyes. How many of them were going to hurt him like Ryuuhou did? Who did he have to watch out for?

When Koujaku saw the final guest, a man dressed in blue with sandy blonde hair, he began to scream, blind to the shocked and frightened eyes of the people around him. He felt himself slowing down, almost as if he were trying to rest. He closed his eyes, ignoring the hands shaking his shoulders, and let himself sleep.

When he woke up, his kimono was tattered, his sword was chipped and twisted, and everyone around him, including his mother, was dead.

The man hadn’t been Ryuuhou. It was just a family friend, an innocent person killed by Koujaku.

Ryuuhou’s warning suddenly came back to him in full force: _“Learn to control your temper, lest you regret it in the future.”_

Koujaku looked at the bodies scattered in the courtyard, and he began to cry.

 

* * *

 

Koujaku wanted Aoba. He sat on the steps to his home, still drenched in blood, and thought of Aoba.

He was going to kill himself, and Aoba stopped him. Not directly, of course. But when he thought of Aoba’s face, perpetually cheery even when he’d been upset or angry, he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to die without seeing him one more time.

He didn’t want to die so soon after killing his mother.

He didn’t want to die in an unfamiliar land surrounded by bodies of people he knew and loved.

He didn’t want to die alone.

Koujaku took his sword, still bloodstained, and buried it in the garden. He never wanted to see it again. He fled his home, not giving a thought to the story he’d tell people. He couldn’t exactly tell the truth, but he knew he could be found out eventually. In the end, he realized, it didn’t matter. His father would mourn the loss of an heir, but there would be more women and more sons.

As far as he would be concerned, rival gang members killed the group and took Koujaku, and he’d never be seen again.

It took Koujaku almost four days to reach Midorijima. When he landed on the island, he immediately sought out Aoba. Weeks passed with no luck – the Old Resident’s District was relatively big, and there were more places to look that he could even dream of. Koujaku grew discouraged. What if Aoba wasn’t even on the island? What if he’d forgotten about Koujaku?

It became hard for him to sleep at night. The nightmares wouldn’t leave him - he was hundreds of miles away from Ryuuhou, but he still felt haunted. So instead of spending fruitless hours lying in the dark, he decided to just wander around town. There were plenty of people to watch, and he found himself becoming pretty popular with the girls of Midorijima. Koujaku had picked up a talent for haircutting, and soon opened up a freelance shop. It gave him an opportunity to earn some money and talk to girls. None of them knew where Aoba was, or even who he was, but Koujaku didn’t feel nervous around the women like he did with the men.

There was something soft about them, something utterly…nonthreatening.

The girls wouldn’t hurt him. They wouldn’t do what Ryuuhou did.

A little less than five months passed before he finally found Aoba. He’d been cutting a girl’s hair when her boyfriend seemed to grow jealous of the looks she was giving Koujaku. A fight had started, a crowd quickly forming around the two men.

In the middle of the crowd, he saw a bright flash of blue hair. Quickly disabling the other man, Koujaku raked his eyes across the mob, but couldn’t quite see him anymore – he’d gotten too far away. In a last-ditch attempt, he called out Aoba’s name, hoping that he would hear.

The blue-haired man turned around, and Koujaku knew it was him.

All thoughts faded from his head when he saw Aoba. The one person in the world who didn’t know what Koujaku had done, what he’d become. Aoba greeted him with a shocked gasp and a quick, somewhat awkward hug. The feeling of being touched was nauseating.

But he didn’t push Aoba away, letting him hold on as long as he wanted.

For a few days after the reunion, it was as if nothing happened. Aoba told him about his job at the junk shop, about Rhyme, and assorted things he missed while gone. Then the questions started – what was it like on the mainland, what kind of things did he see, why did he leave in the first place.

Most of the questions were easily brushed off or answered with few words, until the one day when Aoba asked a question that couldn’t be ignored.

“Koujaku, what’s that marking on your chest?”

They’d been at Aoba’s house, relaxing on the veranda. Ren and Beni were nestled in Koujaku’s arm, a cigarette hanging from his free hand. Aoba was watching the stars and the question seemed to come from out of nowhere.

“What?”

“Those marks. They look like tattoos.”

Koujaku felt his heart start beating hard. He didn’t know how to explain what happened. He didn’t want to tell Aoba, didn’t want to drag him into that perverse nightmare that had been his life on the mainland.

“I – well – they’re…they _are_ tattoos.”

Aoba rolled his eyes. “I see that. I just didn’t expect _you_ to ever get a tattoo. What was it like? Did it hurt? How was the artist?” Questions poured from his lips like a waterfall and for a terrible moment, Koujaku imagined taking him by the back of his head and grinding his face into the rail, if only to stop his chattering.

Fear boiled in the pit of his stomach. It felt like a block of ice dropped down into his gut. _Did I really just…?_

Koujaku shook his head. _No! I wouldn’t hurt Aoba, I would_ never _, I’m not like that anymore, I’ll never hurt someone like that again._

Aoba watched Koujaku, concerned written into every inch of his face. “Koujaku? What’s wrong? You’ve been doing this ever since you came back. I ask you something and you ignore me. You never did that before.” Aoba’s voice grew soft. “Did something happen to you? Are you alright?”

He swallowed hard, thoughts racing in his head at a thousand miles per hour. He felt the beginnings of tears pricking at his eyes, but he forced them down.

_Aoba, something did happen. I didn’t want the tattoos; I didn’t want to go to that man. I was only fourteen, Aoba, and he – there’s things I’m not telling you, because I don’t want you to hate me. I don’t want you to hate how I begged for him and how he made me want it, I don’t want to tell you what those tattoos did to me. I can’t stop thinking about what happened to me – he raped me, Aoba, and I’m scared, so scared, that I’ll hurt you like that too. I’m a monster, Aoba, I killed people, I killed my mother! Aoba, help me, please, I want to go home, I want my mom, I want to die._

But instead of saying anything, Koujaku shrugged his shoulders and gave a small laugh, grinding the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray beside him. “Aoba, there’s nothing to worry about. I’m okay. Nothing happened to me back then.”

Nothing at all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> happy birthday koujaku ｡◕‿◕｡


End file.
